


Rodeo

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Discrimination, Gender Roles, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Narcotics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: It's the bulls and blood, the dust and mud, the roar of a Sunday crowd... Whenever they went to Rodeo, Hanzo assumed his cowboy was smart enough not to do such foolishness. He didn't realize that Jesse didn't participate on a technicality. // #McHanzo, nice dose of smut at the end.





	Rodeo

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - bit of judgy country folk giving the cyborg cowboy and his... partner weird looks. I don't make it a huge thing, but it's there. The opening of the summary and the 'she just wants her cowboy...' are lyrics to "Rodeo" by Garth Brooks. Which, incidentally (and not surprisingly) was the spark for this here story! ...Don't judge me. I've been on a western kick, and that means lots of country music.

"Hey! McCree!"

We turn in unison. He tilts up his hat, frowning, as a red faced man in a dusty black waistcoat climbs through the crowd to us. He's out of breath. Jesse takes his cigar out in respect. "What can I do for ya?"

"Hey. I know regulation and all..." He has the barest glance to the gleaming metal rested on the wood railing he rests his weight on. I watch Jesse's grip tighten, and his lips harden. "But my bull rider just rabbited. He's on slot after next. You wanna ride?"

Jesse nearly drops his cigar. He holds it out to me to hold without looking, and he stands tall and tugs on his hat. "Don't fuck with me, old man. It ain't right to mess with a cowboy like that."

"I'm dead serious," he gasped. "I can't promise you a purse, and the books won't mark you for any records, but..." He grins, a crazy, indulgent grin. Jesse echoes him.

For a split second, my mind is flooded with the image of my cowboy riding a bull like in the movies, one hand on the beast, holding on for dear life, profanities and joyous hollering dancing in the wind, and his hand waving out like a proud hand, defying sense and nature as he holds on...

And then I see him flying through the air and breaking his head on the bars of the enclosure or being gouged or trampled by the horned devil and taken from me forever. Horror dawns on me, and they're already moving away from me.

"WAIT!"

"You best hurry up, ninja boy, or we'll leave ya behind."

"Jesse! Jesse-sama, please!" I tag his sleeve. "Is it not dangerous?"

"Very," he answers, smiling back at me, but still he follows as we break from the crowd and head towards a barn that is guarded by gunned men, who watch us approach. The little man waves at them and they let us through.

"But! But Jesse! You could be killed!"

"Quite probably."

I faltered in my step, and then continue forward, trailing after his boots, not so out of place in this land of wild and dust and self-destructive bravado.

I suddenly do not like the rodeo anymore.

They stop at another pen, and I see the demon that will try to kill my cowboy, and he is grinning at it. Like they are old rivals, and not nature unbridled and foolish, foolish mortal man.

"That's the one you'll be riding. His name is Jefe, his record is 8 seconds."

Jesse fusses with his hat. That means he is nervous, even if his smile lies well. I look at 'Jefe' and I whisper a prayer to him to not kill my Jesse. He is my life, my love, and my world.

I know from experience that 8 seconds can be a very, very, _very_  long time.

Another man comes to us. If the bull is a demon, this man is the devil. He is in black as well, a sharp hat hiding his eyes, and a thin cigarette in his lips. My foolish cowboy greets him with a tip of his hat, that metal arm of his giving him more stupid ideas than his stupid head would come up with on its own, I am sure. He thinks he can do things with it a normal man cannot do without taking into account the rest of him.

The devil notes the silver arm. "You know regulation doesn't allow for modifications on our men."

"I do, sir," my man answers. I wish he would not be here, an arm's reach from an old addiction. I did not know. I thought he was smart. I thought he liked to watch, but was not so stupid as to do these things. I did not know he was not playing on a technicality. In my mind, thinking of him riding bucking Broncos was... Exciting. Now, I am not excited. I am terrified.

The devil presents a clipboard with paper. "Then you understand that playing in your condition disqualifies you from prizes and recognition. You will get no purse. You will break no records. You are here of your own free will, and any injuries you sustain are your own responsibility. Understood?" I watch in horror as they give him a pen, and I cover my mouth in my hands.

"Yeah yeah, I gotcha." I watch him scratch his name, like I had seen him do so many times, but this time it is signed in blood.

"Jesse..." I beg quietly. He does not hear me.

He is stomping his boots, tightening his belt, and breathing. I have watched him do this before gun fights. Before training sessions. There are no guns to check. We checked those in when we entered the venue. He fusses with his hat, and they bring him gloves. He finds one that suits his right hand, and then one that fits the left.

The boy with the box of gloves stares. Jesse snaps at him, and he stops. He excuses himself and scatters. Finally, Jesse looks back out to his waiting beast.

I move to him and wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight. I am terrified that this will be the last time I will be able to hold him. I always fear for him when we work, but we have Mercy and Lucio and others who can help me watch after him. Here...

There is only my cowboy and the dirt and the sun and a beast.

He chuckles, his arms wrapping around me. I can hear his heart pounding in his chest. "Hey, Han, baby. Come on." He does not look around at the others. He looks only at me. His fingers tease at my skin, but I only squeeze tighter.

"Hanzo..."

"Do not do this," I beg him. My voice shakes. "I do not want to lose you."

He laughs, but it's a shy, unsure laugh. I know he is afraid, too. "Hey, Han... Baby. I'll be fine." He presses a kiss to me. "They got nurses and stuff on hand. We're not neanderthals picking fights with tigers, here."

I glare up at him, remembering too well how much he liked the big cats in the circus show we saw in the spring. I punch him in the arm, his real one, and he laughs.

"Hey, don't beat me up. I still gotta ride a bull." He directs his eyes over at the beast that will try to best him, and I do not indulge him. I just hug him tighter.

He sighs, and holds me, swaying gently. And he sniffs, like when he thinks of something clever. "She just wants her cowboy, like he wants his rodeo."

"I know how she feels," I grumble.

He chuckles, but it is quiet and unsure. It makes my heart ache. "Hey." He touches his finger to my chin, and I do not want to look up at him.

But I do. His face crumples when he sees how red my eyes are, and the tears on my cheeks. I do not like to see him so upset. I do not want him to see me not be strong, like he is. He kisses me, and I am sure people are watching, but I can not care.

I can not. I care too much already. My kiss is desperate, and fleeting, and I tell myself to do my best, in case it is the last.

He is sweet, and kind to me. When we break, I bury my head in his chest again, and he sighs. "Hanzo. I've done this dozens of times." He is trying to reassure me.

"It only takes once to die."

"Well... Yeah. But I know what I'm doin'. I know where to fly, where to land, how to get out. He comes after me, I know how to grapple 'im. I've done this before."

I do not like the idea of my cowboy on the ground, trying to grab a bull by the horns to keep it from eating him. It makes my stomach sick, and I let out a plaintive whine and squeeze my eyes shut.

He sighs. "...This is why girls aren't allowed back stage at a rodeo."

"I am not a girl," I say. It sounds like a whine.

He laughs. "Not technically. But you're my _somethin'_. If they knew that, they wouldn't have let you in here."

I look up at him again, and I am confused. His eyes... They are the eyes he gives me that tell me he loves me. Not the want that takes... The love that gives. It does not make me worry less. It makes me fear that I will never see those eyes again. "What do you mean?"

He has mischief in his eyes, and in his lips. "Girls aren't supposed to be back here, because they cling to their cowboys and beg them not to ride. Like you're doing."

I let that sink in. Years of _'women are weak... we are strong warriors'_ come back to me, and I consider the context.

I know what it is like to watch the man you love put on armor and voluntarily walk out to certain doom. But I have the benefit of walking with him. To be a woman, who does not have the training I do, who does not know the names of the people who will watch over him and protect him, who does not know how he fights, or who will be behind him to watch his back. To be powerless, as I am now, to watch the man you love step out into sheer doom with nothing but luck and maybe some skill, to fight against a thing that has grave odds, and pray desperately to him to not go, to not ride, to not fight, to stay home and drink whisky and watch old movies and stay safe...

I understand now. It is not weakness. It is a strength of love, to want their men to be safe, and live happy, long lives, when war - and rodeo - is foolish and unnecessary. It makes sense, now, that they think we are stupid for doing it. I think he is very stupid. I understand why men say that brave and stupid are very different things, but I do not think it is so different. I realize a lot of things we say are brave are still very stupid, from the other side of the conversation.

I wonder if the world would be different if more men could feel the way I do.

I realize that even now, he is teaching me more every day. I step away from him, and I brush away my tears furiously. "I understand, Jesse-sama. It is... Like before battle. Men ride out, alone, to the battlefield. Women stay home. They tend the children and pray at the temple for the safety of their husbands. They make a home for them to dream of and want to return to, so that they do not make stupid risks. Men must fight. It is what we are made for."

"Now, Han, I didn't mean..."

"No, I understand." I bow low. "I will pray. And watch for you. You must fight. It is what you are made for."

When I rise, he is conflicted. He doesn't know what to say to that. But behind him, someone hollers for him. He looks, and then he looks back to me, and there is doubt in his eyes. _They cling to their cowboys and beg them not to ride_. But I am not a woman. I understand, because I have had the training and experience, and I know what recklessness and ambition and challenging oneself to be better is about.

I wish we would let women learn that as well.

"Ride hard, Jesse-sama. And ride well." And my lips twitch. "Think of me, and I am sure you will prevail."

I watch his eyes go dark. His jaw twists, and they call for him again. He snorts out of his nose, not unlike the bull, and my smile creeps bigger.

"Yer gonna get it when we get home," he warns me with a finger, and I watch him stomp off, looking back at me over his shoulder with another smoldering glare, before he climbs the paddock and gets in with his beast.

I turn away, and let out a deep breath. I may not be a woman, but I am his... something. I smile softly. _His_  something.

"Uh, ma'am?" I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn.

The fellow's eyes go wide. "OH. Oh, I... I'm awful sorry."

I give him a patient smile. "It is the long hair," I tell him. I know it is because I was just clinging to my cowboy, and they assumed his something had slipped in through security. I take advantage of his surprise. "How do I get out to watch?"

His jaw is still on the ground as he points to a door. I thank him, and put my hands in my robe.

On another day I might have been afraid, and nervous of being found. But right now all I can think of is my cowboy riding a bucking bull, just like in the movies, and I do not want to miss it.

xxx

"GOD DAMN! 18 fucking seconds! Can you believe it?!"

I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest, it is pounding so hard. I am sitting near him, and he is grinning through the pain as the nurses fuss about him.

"Are you sure you don't want to get to a hospital?" the nurse asks.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just a bit of ripped flesh. Hurts like hell, but I've had worse. Just strap it in, she'll heal."

"It looked very painful," I tell him. I'm just happy he's alive.

"Yeah, he threw me pretty good! I tend to roll on the left on account of the arm, but I over--OW!" He bit his lip, and groaned as the wincing nurse pressed the omnic device into its place... There was a sound of wet flesh that was going to make me ill. "Oh, hell, fuck..." He whimpered, breathing through his nose. That was not a sound he made often. Usually only when I rode _him_...

Knowing the sensation, I was concerned that it made him make such noises.

"Ohhh..." There was an unnatural click as it went back into place, and the nurses looked to each other, and then to him.

"Is that better?"

He made another whimper of a noise. "It's good. I'll be fine. Ohh." He looked down at the limb that, until now, had been dead and still. He moved his fingers, and they glitched for a moment, and then went smooth. He let out another exhale. "Oh, there we go... Mm."

"That thing _can't_  feel good," one of the nurses said. If this were a lab, I am sure he would be poking at it with tools right now.

"It don't," my cowboy answers, smiling, eyes going half-lidded, as if drunk. "But she's got some pain killers in there for reassembly."

The nurses looked at each other again, and then at him as he sat up. "You didn't mention you were on narcotics."

"I sure didn't." I watched him pull his shirt back on over his shoulder.

"Why do you think these things are illegal?" At the door, the lawyer was watching with a smirk. "Damned shame. You would've won a hell of a purse with that kind of time."

"Yeah. Damn shame," McCree agreed. But he watched him with his eyes.

The lawyer stepped forward, and the nurses started to clean up around. "Thing is, I know you ain't exactly in need of a purse, from my understanding."

"No, but it'd be nice." He started buttoning his shirt. I stood, and cleared my throat. His smile grew, and he left it mostly undone.

The lawyer narrowed his eyes at me. "...That being said." I could tell from his sneer he didn't approve. He looked back to Jesse. "I feel bad not giving you a prize. For helping us out. So how about instead of playing for the prize... I pay you as a performer?"

Jesse considered that. "...One show only?"

"One show only." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and handed it to him. As Jesse opened it up and read the contract, I moved closer, taking a seat where one of the nurses had been standing.

As he read, his metal hand idly reached for me, and I took it. I smiled at the lawyer, who said nothing.

"...Sounds decent to me," he finally said. "Pen?"

He handed one over, and I let go of my cowboy's hand so that he could brace it against his leg to sign. I was not shy about admiring the shape of his butt as he did so. The scratch was still a kind of blood, but now that he was safe, I did not mind. Contract traded hands, and the devil handed him another envelope. This one was thicker, and Jesse peeked through it and nodded.

He held out a hand. "Pleasure doing business."

"Likewise, Mr. McCree. We appreciate your prompt assistance, and a spectacular performance. You live up to your reputation." He eyed me again, and then gave Jesse a thin smile. "Enjoy the rest of the show."

He turned to leave, and Jesse handed me the envelope. My eyes widened at the amount of high-price dollars.

"That is a lot for 18 seconds for performance."

Jesse grinned. "That's the purse I didn't win."

My jaw dropped. "That is a lot of money for 18 seconds of performance!"

He laughed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to face me. He crooked a finger. "Come here."

Still surprised, I stood before him. He tugged at the front of my robe, and we were flush. He kissed me, and I put my hands around his neck. He tasted wonderful. My spine tensed when I felt him touch me below, through my clothes, the other hand sliding into my robes and touching my breast. He teased with his tongue, and his teeth, and I let the rest of the room melt away from us. I sighed, pressing myself into his touch, and I was wondering if he was going to take me here, when he broke away from the kiss, and his eyes opened, dark and hungry...

"Arigatou gozaimasu," he whispered to me as he pulled at my clothes, and I tensed when he touched me, flesh on flesh. "You don't know what this meant to me."

I bit my lip as he was gentle, feather light, and then squeezing hard. "Oh... Mm." I nodded, not know what to say.

That metal hand was still cool, but I didn't mind as it wrapped around my throat, and squeezed, just enough. His other pulled and squeezed, and my thoughts ran away to black pits and I thought only of him. He pulled me lower, where his lips could reach my ear.

"I want you, Hanzo," he growled, and I shivered. "For what you did today... You don't even know. How _hard_  it made me... To see you afraid for me. To know you care that much. And to know that you love me enough to let me do it anyway..."

His grip got faster, and I muttered under my breath, incomprehensible sounds, as my hands clutched to his shirt, the heat and fever in my mind... I felt only his crisp cloth in my fingers, his grip at my throat, his voice, like a demon, in my ear... His hand in my pants, wrapped around my manhood, squeezing and pulling and bringing me to bliss and wickedness, and yet it was so perfect...

"H-hai..." I whispered. My face contorted, my mouth slack as my breathing was thin, feeling him control me with such ease and power...

He purred in my ear, and my hips twitched. "What was it you said to me? Before I went out... Say it again."

"R-ride hard," I said. His grip changed, and I let out a small sound. "Ride well..."

He growled through his teeth. "...And?"

I let out something that, if I was sane, would be a laugh. But I was not sane... He drove me to madness. Blissful, red hot, squeezing, _so close_  madness... "Think... of me..." Long and hard strokes, and I felt myself getting closer... "And... You will... Ohh... Prevail."

The hand on my throat tightened, as did the one on my... My fingers twisted, my face contorted, and my breath shallow and hardly there... "Oh... Jesse... Please..."

"I want you to come for me, Hanzo. Right here. Right now."

My body shuddered and I clung to him, gasping and panting, groaning, trying to be quiet. He growled into my ear, and his savage teeth took to my throat, adding another flash of pain, and I whimpered, and before long, I was so close...

"Close... please... so close..."

"Do it," he ordered me."Come for me."

I could not have it in me to disobey. Another sharp gasp, my nails digging into his skin under the shirt, but I did it. He squeezed me tight until I'd finished, and when I melted in his arms, the grip on my neck loosened.

He took me in a rough and hungry kiss, and I was too weak to fight him back.

"Hand me that box of tissues, darlin'," he told me.

I obeyed, my entire body tingling, and I knew his hand was still on my cock. I presented the box to him, and I fought to get my breathing back, my legs shaking. He took a few, and a I gasped as I felt his hand still on me, even as I withered from his touch. He brought his hand to his mouth, and I watched with black eyes as he licked and sucked my seed from his hand. When he was done, he wiped his hand with the tissues, and gestured for me to do the same.

I dropped onto the bed beside him, feeling like a bowl of noodles. He smiled at me. "...I feel like I could nap for three hours," I told him. He laughed.

He reached out for his hat, and the envelope of cash. He stood, and I could see his own hardness pressed into his jeans. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I didn't, as he pulled his sleeves low so no one could see the gleaming metal that he'd flashed in the ring, and he tugged on the gloves that were not his, but... perhaps were now.

And then... He put his hat on _my_  head. I blinked at him, surprised, as he tucked the winnings into his pocket.

He nodded to the door. "Come on, you. I'm getting you some sushi. And sake. And then... We're going to get a bottle of Johnnie Walker blue label. I think we've earned it."

I clutched the hat as if he had given me the world, and I beamed. "Hai!" I followed behind, carrying my prize, and following his boots and spurs, admiring his ass, and when we walked through the crowd, maybe no one noticed us. But if they did, I did not notice them.

I was just happy I still had my cowboy. He had survived the rodeo and come out a hero. Just like in the movies. I wondered how many cowboys back then had also had Chinamen worrying and cheering for them on the sidelines, praying for their men. If there was not a movie like that, there should be. It would be a very good story.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't clear, there's a narcotics mechanism in the arm, so that if he should have it DISLOCATED WHILE BULL-RIDING, he gets a dose of pain killers when it's reapplied. I feel like that's considerate for emergency first-aid on the battlefield. He may also be getting low-key narcotics on the regular as part of the mechanism. I can't imagine that thing is comfortable to lug around strapped to your arm.


End file.
